


Manchester

by fickle_fics



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, grey white
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: Grey convinces Malcolm it's safe to go out in public.
Relationships: Malcolm Tucker/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Manchester

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anonymity square of 2019's Seasons of Kink of DW

Somehow Grey had convinced Malcolm to take a weekend off and go up to Manchester with her. No one would know him there, he wasn’t as recognisable as he seemed to think - living in his little microcosm of Westminster where people actually cared about politics just made him believe everyone knew who he was even when most people wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a line-up. He still wasn’t sure about the whole thing but he’d agreed because it was about time he made some kind of effort to spend some real time with Grey before she realised she could do better than a fifty year old workaholic with a number of serious personality issues. 

He’d booked the hotel under a fake name - Mike Ticker, something Grey had taken the piss out of him for for twenty minutes due to its lack of creativity, which seemed a bit fucking rich coming from a woman that called herself Grey White, but whatever.

He’d let Grey pay with her card when they’d arrived, there was just something kind of sordid about using cash to pay for a hotel, like he was trying to hide something, which he was, he just wanted to be a bit more subtle about it.

So now he was Mike Ticker - a man in the midst of a midlife crisis going on the outfit of skinny jeans and skeleton t-shirt that Grey had picked out for him.

“Can I paint your nails?” she asked.

“I’m fifty years old, no, Grey you can’t paint my fucking nails!”

“What about eyeliner?” she asked hopefully, already coming at him, pencil in hand.

Scoffing he caught her wrist, “You think I trust you with something sharp next to my eyeball. darling?” he asked. “Think again.” He took the pencil from her though, turning to face the mirror in front of him as he pulled down his lower eyelid slightly and started to apply it himself.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, standing behind him, watching intently.

“Yeah well…” he trailed off, turning his head to look at her. “I was a teenager when the New Romantics were around,” he pointed out.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?” she asked. “I mean...all the fun I could’ve had doing your make-up.”

“That’s _exactly_ why I never mentioned it, you think I want to waste an hour of you getting me dolled up before we fuck? Come on!”

“Sweet that you think I have that kind of restraint,” she told him. “We’re talking two minutes for a swipe of lipstick and some eyeliner, and now I’m thinking about you leaving marks,” she said shaking her head to try and clear her mind.

“I take it you like it then?” he asked, trying not to look too smug.

“I’m not saying you don’t do it for me in a suit but…” she trailed off, snaking her arm around his chest. “This is a pretty cool change,” she admitted, leaning down to kiss his neck, still keeping her eyes on his reflection. 

“More your type?” he asked.

“Maybe, but you know I worked out I don’t have a type when I met you, right?”

Malcolm smiled, turning his head to catch her lips. “Flatterer.”

“You ready?” she asked, reluctantly letting go of him.

“You sure no one’s going to recognise me?” he asked as he stood.

“Malc, _I_ barely recognise you. Come on!”

Malcolm couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a club, sometime back in Glasgow probably before he’d moved to London and work had completely taken over his life. It felt strange being out in public, especially with Grey, standing right next to him, talking to him, _being_ with him. He knew how messed up that was, that being out with his own girlfriend felt odd. 

“Relax,” she said as she led the way to the bar. “Drink?”

He opened his mouth to say no then thought better of it. He was off duty, and more importantly away from Westminster, someone else could handle it if it all went to shit back in London. This was the first holiday he’d had in years. He deserved to get away from it all. He deserved to get away from Malcolm F Tucker! “Whiskey,” he said. “Neat.”

“Hardcore,” she said, reaching for his hand to guide him through the people standing around and generally getting in the way. She could feel the resistance in his touch, and when she turned to look at him she saw him looking around, seeing if anyone was paying attention to them.

“No one cares,” she said as she turned to face him. “No one fucking _cares_ , Malc. And seriously no one knows who you are, and even if they did do you really think they’d believe it was actually you?” She leaned in to kiss him then, even as people pushed past them, knocking her around as she did. “Now, I’m gonna get you drunk and take advantage of you, that okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Okay.”

It had taken four whiskeys for Malcolm to finally stop worrying, to stop keeping an eye on everyone to see if anyone was looking, taking photos, whispering about him. It had taken four whiskeys for him to finally believe Grey and just relax for the first time in years. Now he was in a booth in a dark corner with Grey in his lap as her lips firmly connected to his.

It felt good not caring. He’d got out of the habit a couple of decades ago when he’d joined the party and everything he’d done had suddenly been a reflection on it. He wasn’t even a politician but he was an important member and that was all that mattered. It hadn’t been all that hard for the first ten years or so - his life had been dull enough to not cause any potential problems, then Grey had waltzed in - more than twenty years younger than him and an intern. He knew how it looked, but here it didn’t matter. Here, in some dark rock club in the middle of Manchester no one cared, no one knew. He could be with Grey and not just behind locked doors and it was more freeing than he’d ever imagined.

He pressed up against her, letting her feel his erection, drunk on whiskey, and her perfume, and the knowledge than no one fucking _cared_. His hands moved under her t-shirt, up her sides and inwards to palm her breasts, breaking the kiss to look at her with raised eyebrows at the realisation she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Grey smirked, raising her own eyebrow at him, challenging him.

“You’re no playing fair, darling,” he murmured, his thumbs stroking over her nipples.

“Who said anything about playing fair?” she asked. “Anyway we’ve never gone out like this before, how;d you know the lack of underwear isn’t just a _thing_?”

“Lack of underwear?” he repeated, his gaze moving down to her skirt then back to her face.

“Call it wishful thinking,” she suggested.

“Grey,” he groaned, keeping his eyes on her face as he removed one hand from under her top to run it over her leg, up under her skirt, breath catching as he felt the bare skin between her legs. “You cheap little slut,” he said fondly.

Grey bit her lip as his fingers moved over her. “Guilty,” she replied with a bit of a shrug.

Malcolm shook his head even as he pressed more firmly against her with his fingertips. “So this is you then, is it? This is what I’ve been missing?”

“It’s a bit of me,” she admitted, “but y’know you’re a classy bloke. Or at least a well known one that can’t risk being seen with someone like me. had to act accordingly.”

“So if I was just some...nobody we’d’ve been fucking in public, would we?” he asked, slipping his finger inside her, watching the way her nose wrinkled when he did. “You know you should’ve mentioned that before, might’ve made me reconsider the job.”

“You that easy, Malc?”

“Well not compared to you, apparently.”

“Maybe we would, yeah,” she said. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah it matters,” he said, leaning up to kiss her. “This is...good,” he said. “Never thought about it much but being with you, not having to be so fucking _careful_...” he curled his finger inside her and bit down against her bottom lip. “I like this,” he said.

“So we can do it again?” 

He nodded. “Once a month, if I can sort it,” he said. “We’ll do this, get out of London, be together, yeah?”

“You just wanna fuck in public,” she teased.

“You complaining?”

“Fuck no,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. “Just wish I’d worked out this was your price years ago.”


End file.
